Incinta
by MarshmellowDragon
Summary: She says she's pregnant. That she wants to keep it. And in no way does he consider himself ready to be a dad. Or so he thinks. Infants are amazing when used as tools of persuasion.


"_There is nothing like a newborn baby to renew your spirit - and to buttress your resolve to make the world a better place."_

-Virginia Kelley

* * *

**-Primo Mese-**

When he comes home, Maka is sitting on the couch.

Which isn't really that weird, except for the fact that it's four in the morning and she's supposed to be waking up in another two hours. And if living with her has taught him _anything_ it's that a sleepy Maka equals a pissy Maka.

So he opens his mouth to ask what's up.

She beats him to it.

"I'm pregnant."

And everything comes screeching to a halt.

"W-what?" No, no. He heard her perfectly well, but it's the only word he can force out from his suddenly dry mouth.

Pregnant? Weird food cravings? Violent mood swings? Maka screaming in labor? Mini-brats running around and pulling hair? Parenthood? Sleepless nights? He suddenly wants to sit down. Scratch that, his legs give up and buckle under him so that he's half sprawled on the floor and still waiting for everything to catch up.

"I'm pregnant." She repeats, because, y'know, obviously him collapsing wasn't enough of a reaction to make her happy. Maybe she's waiting for him to faint? 'Cuz he _is_ starting to feel a little lightheaded, but that would _not_ be cool at all but _still_…these are pretty extreme circumstances.

The statement slowly sinks past the first layer of shock and Soul can just about find his voice. "R-really?" She doesn't answer this time, at least not verbally, but when a small plastic stick bounces off his head, he takes that as a yes. He doesn't have to look to know that the there's a little plus on one end. And she throws another one, just for good measure. He manages to dodge the third.

"Oh." Geeze. What a welcome home. She hadn't come out on the assignment with him, murmuring something about not feeling so great. It made more sense now, but…_gah._ Silence descended over the room, Soul still weak in the knees and Maka still crosslegged on the couch. Now what?

"I'm pregnant." Third time's the charm. Maybe it'll finally sink in properly? He doubts it. And…shit. Is she crying? She's totally crying. She's not _sobbing_, or really making a big deal out of it, but even from across the room, he can see the glint of gathered tears at the corners of her eyes. Damn it, how long had that been going on? He sighs and scrapes himself off the floor, ignoring the trembling in his legs. He's a sucker for tears, always has been, always will be.

She doesn't look up at him when he plops down on the couch cushions, but she tilts sideways all the same to use his recently broadened chest as her own personal pillow, so he slings an arm over her back and makes sure she knows that he's free to be used as a comfort device. And…maybe, maybe he feels a little better too, 'cuz it's not like this is a one way bond. His cheek resting on her head and fingers tracing circles on her back while he waits for her to stop trembling, Soul decides that, yeah, things are better this way.

But damn…him? A dad? He's a deathscythe, (though, not _the_ Deathscythe; bitterly, he admits that the honor still belongs to Maka's papa), and there's nothing in his line of work that prepares him for this. It's like…the opposite of his job description. He's supposed to take lives, not make them. So's she, for that matter.

"M'sorry." Maka mumbles from somewhere against his chest. "Sorry." There's a sniff and Soul can feel her arm brush against his shirt as she wipes her eyes. "I…dunno. I thought we'd be okay that one time. And..._argh_." Oww, her headbang against his chest had _hurt_. "I'm sorry!" Vaguely he wonders if that's for the pain or for the pregnancy. "I just…"

What would be cool would be to whisper in her ear that it's okay, that he doesn't mind, that everything will be just fine, that this won't change anything at all, y'know, be the pillar of support.

He wants to, so badly, but he can't. 'Cuz things aren't going to stay the same, things might not end up okay, and he most definitely _does_ mind. He's not ready for this. (And if he lies on something this huge, she'll totally Maka Chop his ass.) So he doesn't say anything. Doesn't know what to say that could make it better. Doesn't know what to say that won't make it worse. He just keeps rubbing her back, doesn't know what else he can do.

"But…I want to keep it. Him. Her. Whoever." He can feel her tense up as soon as the words leave her lips, feel her muscles quiver as she waits for his response. Slowly, Soul shifts his head so that it's his eyes and nose buried in her hair, his lips poised right next to her ear.

"Then keep it. I won't stop you." And that, at least, is simple enough. That, at least, is not a lie. It's their brat, after all. And it came out pretty cool too. So, yeah; Parenthood bugs him, that doesn't mean that he's outright opposed to the idea; Doesn't mean that he wants to…get rid of the kid, as it were. Things'll change, drastically. But, if she's okay with it, then he can't just back down from the challenge, can he?

"But y'know," he mutters when the silence threatens to turn permanent, "you really need to warn a guy before you drop a bomb like this." There's a snort, or a sniffle, or maybe it's a hiccup, possibly even a laugh, he can't really tell, but in any case, at least she heard him, 'cuz she nods against his chest, and he grins. Holds her closer and unleashes his smile into her hair. There, mission accomplished. Crisis averted. They're okay. Hopefully. Probably. Maybe. They'll see.

"So, I guess we need to go shopping?"

-**Secondo Mese**-

Morning sickness, she read somewhere, is the body's attempt at detoxifying the human mother's body for optimal infant development. Vaguely, as she chokes on water and stomach juices all nicely mixed up together, Maka wonders if she's going to start vomiting blood.  
Black blood.

It's not like she bleeds black constantly. Papercuts, her period, the occasional injury from the line of duty, her blood is crimson and doesn't immediately harden. But the trace of it lingers. When a fight is too fast, too furious, her brain can't keep up and her body is buckling under the stress, insanity is always there, pressing against her like an old lover, calling out to her as a solution to anything, an end to everything.  
It can't be good for the child. The little red demon, always hovering in a dark crevice of her soul, in Soul's too, she doesn't want that in her baby, their baby. For Crona, it was from toddler-hood and it had taken a physical embrace of her soul, a literal plunge into insanity, to even begin repairing the damage. Maka shudders at the thought of dealing with the demon from infancy.

Why, she wonders dazedly between heaves, did she think this was a good idea again? It'll hurt. It is hurting. It's been hurting.

And parenthood. Oh god, parenthood. Should she take after Papa, and forget about the poor thing every once in a while to go out and play? Or use Mama as her role-model, and try to care for just as long as the infant remains interesting? (Maybe she'll stick with Sid and Nygus's tactics then? Just wing it? Black Star hadn't turned out _too_ horrible...)

There's always adoption. It's stupid, because it's not like they're really hard-pressed for cash, and they're not some stupid teenagers with nowhere to go, but what they _are_ in lack of is a stable lifestyle. Constant movement, trips up and down and around the continent on a moment's notice, she's a three star meister, he's a deathscythe and their missions reflect that. The less attachments, the easier its supposed to be to do what's necessary to prevent another kishin.

What Shinigami-sama doesn't want is to have his minions employees afraid of death because of who they'll leave behind. There's a reason that such a large number of Shibusen residents don't boast families of their own.

Maka Albarn abhors failure on a level that can almost compare to her loathing of Medusa. The mere idea of abandoning this child to the social services system leaves a foul taste in the back of her mouth that has nothing to do with morning sickness. But she can't see how this is going to end well. She just can't. Whether through neglect or simple bad choices, it seems like whatever solution Maka comes up with still dooms this child to a less than perfect life. She can't suppress the shudder that rattles her frame as her mind tries to wrap itself around the notion of a predetermined failure.

Soul, on the other hand, mistakes the shudder for disgust at the contents of the toilet, and tries his best to make things better as he holds back her hair and rubs her back.

-**Terzo Mese**-

Soul's about ready to start throwing the well-wishers out the window when the doorbell rings _again_. The neighbors, their Italian tutor, their landlord, the random guy who fixes Soul's bike, Marie-sensei…

So he's not really all that surprised to find Crona twiddling her thumbs in the doorway and looking very much uncomfortable. At this rate, Deathscythe would be showing up soon with half of Shibusen behind him. (And as he'd joked to Black Star once, Maka only took the Western Europe posting because it got her away from her papa.) Maka, two steps behind him, peeks over his shoulder at the mop of pink hair and immediately brightens. They haven't seen the sword-user in months, so it's understandable. But honestly! Does everyone and their mother have a pregnancy radar?

Gah. Crona. Mother. If Medusa shows her scaly face on their doorstep, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Crona! What're you doing here? Come on, come in!" Three-month stomach and all, Maka dodges under his arm in a second and has already latched onto woman to pull her inside. Though, without much effort on her part, Crona resists and stands her ground in the doorframe. Instead, the sword user focuses her attention on checking Maka over.

"Ah…you're uninjured?"

"Um, yeah?" Crona nods distractedly, though her mouth has twisted into an even deeper frown than the one she arrived with.

"And you're not recently healed?"

"Well…kinda. But it was just a tiny burn. Nothing big." He's not happy with how she downplays it, seeing as she'd been so incredibly close to getting her head blown off, and he tries to make her understand that by sending her a _look_, but she's ignoring him in favor of figuring out what's up with Crona.

"Oh." There's a moment of silence as the pink haired woman mulls over something or other, thinking pose and all. "I could feel your blood. The black blood. It was…distressed. I thought something was horribly wrong. I thought you were…dying." Which doesn't make any sense at all to Soul. Feeling blood? Yeah…non comprendo.

"But I'm…happy, that you're okay." Crona appears quite pleased with herself for the statement, even attempting a nervous grin with its completion. She then proceeds to turn on her heel and walk away.

"I'll be leaving then."

"Gah! Crona! Come back! We haven't seen you in forever!" This time, when Maka drags her friend towards their apartment, Soul helps, and they manage to get her through the door. The trick, he's found over the years, is that once you block off all the exits Chrona will stay. Kind of mean, but most definitely necessary. (He ignores the part of him that's quick to remind how she _used_ to stay without prompting. Stupid Medusa.)

"Stay! I'll make some tea! You have to tell me how're you're doing in Russia!"

"It's cold there. Really cold." Typical Crona response. Maka only grins and turns to the stove in their kitchenette. That's probably when the pink-haired one notices, Soul decides. From the front, it's easy to miss the growing lump. But from the side? The baby bulge sticks out like a sore thumb.

"Ah, Maka. Your stomach…It's larger."

"Mmhmm, I'm pregnant."

"EEEEEH! P-pregnant!" Eyes wide, Crona points to the bulge that marks the womb as if it will suddenly leap out and attack her. "You've got a baby growing in there!"

"Yeah. Mine and Soul's." At that, violet eyes turn to meet his own crimson ones for the first time that day. Crona's stare is heavy with some emotion that he can't quite place (Curiosity? Joy? _Envy?_), though she turns back to Maka before he can properly digest the sight.  
"Ah…can I…can I touch it? Your stomach? I've never…"

"Of course! Although, I haven't felt any movement yet, and the book says I shouldn't expect any, but maybe you'll be lucky?" Crona nods, face still stuck in a mixture of awe and apprehension. She's probably never been near a pregnant woman before, Soul figures.

Carefully, as if her very touch could make the womb wither away with a single wrong move, Crona's fingers creep out to rest on the firm bulge that is Maka's stomach. "It's warm." She mutters under her breath, and her fingers press lightly into the lump. "Um…hello there. My name is Crona. It's very nice to meet you, _aka-chan_." Huh, now why didn't he think of that? Sourly, Soul realizes that he hasn't introduced himself to the baby. He just figured that he'd do it when the kid had been born and all.

Crona smiles. "I hope we can be friends."

-**Quarto Mese**-

Maka hadn't planned to spend her Friday night fending off a mob of skeletons in suits, all pointing guns at her head and all lacking souls for her to steal. The witch re-animating them is…somewhere. She doesn't know, hasn't had a moment to just stand still and concentrate on finding the particular offness of a witch's soul protect. Too busy moving, leaping, diving, ducking, _dodging_.

It sucks, she realizes as she hurdles over a mass of bones and suits, that witches have finally begun to embrace the pure destructive power of human tech. Last month, she and Soul had led an assault on a witch facility that had been devoted to the synchronization of magic and missile-launchers. The aftermath had forced three Shibusen students into intensive care and had left her with a burn on her shoulder that still hadn't healed. The thought of _furthering_ that destructive power was-!  
_  
Focus already!_ Soul's warning comes just in time for her to spin on her heel, wrenching around her partner in a tight curve and striking down a skeleton just as it raises its gun to shoot her down. The follow-through on the swing takes down another two or three, while a few who were too close to the strike crumble from the force of her wavelength. She's just about to use the momentum to slice through a whole mob of them that're plodding towards her with all the grace of a zombie when her abs suddenly decide to go _OWSHITCRAMMMMMMMP!_ And her head decides to go _MIGRAINE TIMEEE! _ The shot of pain is enough that her legs falter, and for an instant, she's pitching forward into the ground instead of leaping towards them like a rocket and oh crap the skeletons see her going down and they're getting ready to shoot and…!

She rolls forward with the force that she already has, _back in control, stay in control, you've got this down Maka_, leaping up out of the somersault in a moment to trip up the first ones in line and cringing as a stray bullet or two clips her shoulder, _but she's gotta keep going 'cuz these guys have gone too far already and…Breathe Maka, breathe!_

Right, breathing. She'd almost forgotten.

"Soul! Cover me! I'll find the witch!" Sure, he doesn't really need the command, but she's a creature of habit. He departs in a flash of light, suddenly transformed from cold steel to flesh and blood and tearing down the opposition. It's harder, because now he has to worry about bullets and defending and _still_ disconnect the bones from their guns, but she has faith.

Cramps all but forgotten, she leaps to the side, out of the fray while the reanimated bones are distracted, and hauls herself up a fire escape to a nearby rooftop and behind a chimney, hopefully sufficient cover from stray bullets, pushing down anxiety and adrenaline so that she can _find_ that witch. Soul Protect is hard enough to pick through on its own, and among the mass of souls currently surrounding them in this area in the outskirts of Naples, it's like asking for a miracle.

But…

There…?

Definitely. A bit too small, pulsing too rapidly to be a normal human. A pretty hasty and poorly done job if she does say so herself. Definitely a witch. And it's…closing in? How hadn't she seen them! Maka's feet move before her brain has caught up with the fact, and she's suddenly facing an old bag of a thing, dressed in fading robes and grinning so widely that those _have_ to be dentures.

"Ron He Heron On!" It takes a moment to realize that _crap the chimney is attacking her…!_ And the witch's cackle? So. Incredibly. Annoying. Soul's still down below with the skeletons, and here she is supposed to be stopping the witch before said bones are unleashed into the greater downtown area to wreak havoc and mayhem etc, so she's suddenly amazingly grateful that she knows hand-to-hand combat. Sort of. Dodge the bricks being thrown courtesy of the chimney, start dashing forward and go for an uppercut to the amazingly old woman's chin. Not _that_ hard.

"Heron!" _And now the hat's attacking too._ Great. No, wait, scratch that, the hat isn't a hat, it's a bird with a wicked sharp beak. It's flying at her in an instant, going for the eyes and she has to twist out of the way and wobbles dangerously as the roof tiles start slipping beneath her, skin screaming because she didn't _quite _make the dodge all clean…but no time to regain her balance, because that thing is huge and it's making another circle in the air.

When it starts diving, she doesn't have many options for defense. She chucks a brick because it's all she's got at the spur of the moment, then another, and a third before she has to leap out of the way. Her ears are just able to catch the end of the witch's chant as the tiles she land on suddenly shake her off, and she starts tumbling off the roof, head over heels and knees up to protect her stomach until her flailing fingers grasp the edge of said roof and she can feel gravity tugging at her toes.

"_Solo una bambina…"_ The old bag caws in Italian as she glares down at Maka. The attacking bird, its mission a success, returns to roosting on the witch's knob of wiry white hair with a smirk that's just too human to be called natural.

"_Ho pensato che-_" Maka never actually finds out _what_ the old crone thought, as she's cut off when the technician pulls herself up the roof's edge in the blink of an eye, using the momentum to swing around a leg and connecting it with the back of the witch's knees. The crone pitching forward, Maka still clinging to the edge of the roof, the two of them collide in a mish-mash of flesh and feather; fighting tooth and nail mid-air in the attempt to force the other to take the brunt of the fall when they land. They flip once, twice, three times, and for a moment, Maka seriously thinks that she'll be on the bottom. Crying out in some emotion or another, maybe fear, maybe desperation, maybe rage, she digs in her nails and _heaves_, wrenching the witch beneath her just in time for them to come crashing into the alleyway.

Maka's world explodes into stars upon the impact, an elbow buckles the wrong way and she has to bite her tongue to fight back a yelp, or maybe it's a scream, she can't tell. Experience says that something's sprained or twisted, maybe just popped out of the socket. Either way it hurts. The witch doesn't move from under her, so she's able to take her time in rolling off, favoring the stinging arm.

"Maka!" Even in the dimly lit alley, Soul's hair stands out against the gray walls like a beacon. Ugh, he has the worst timing when it comes to situations like this. Always swooping in to save the day when she's busy scraping herself off the floor. It's so…embarrassing. With a grunt, the she's pulling herself into a sitting position; although she'd prefer to be standing, she's not sure her legs are up to it at the moment. Twenty meter drops do that to you.

"Idiot! Why didn't you wait for me?" No luck, she's still on the ground when Soul slows his jog and drops to his knees by her aching body. The pain isn't great enough for shock to be kicking in, so she's forced to sit there, clutching at her injured arm as it spikes in pain. Grumpy doesn't begin to cover how she's feeling at the moment.

"It's not like I had a choice you know. She found me!" He frowns at the excuse and opens his mouth to say something or other about how she should've waited anyway, but Maka really doesn't want to hear it at the moment so she cuts him off with a question of her own. "Is she dead?"

He shakes his head, thumbing over his shoulder at the unmoving body. "No soul yet. I think she's just out cold. I'll finish it in a moment-"

"Soul, you know as well as I do-!"

"That the weapon is supposed to protect the meister." He finishes smoothly in a tone that tries to leave very little for argument. It fails, because Maka still doesn't see his logic, but she's obviously not going anywhere on her own, so she doesn't have much of a choice but to go along with it.

"And you're bleeding." He observes with something of a grimace. Maka does her best to wave it off. Just a surface wound, nothing more, she can barely feel it, and by barely, she means that it isn't enough to bring tears to her eyes. (Though, she still flinches when his fingers brush over the red skin where the bird ran its talons.) "What'd you do to your arm? You're holding it funny." She just remains silent, more focused on ensuring that the witch really is out and not getting back up before her partner can reap the hag's soul.

And completely out of the blue, he lifts up her shirt.

"Soul!"

"Relax, I'm just checking your stomach. Since _you_ aren't going to tell me if you're hurt, I'll have to find out myself. Y'know, for the kid." Maka quiets at that, since its all fine and dandy to ignore her own bumps and bruises, but not so much for the life growing beneath her skin. Suddenly she feels a smidge guilty for resenting the impromptu checkup. Stupid mood swings.

"I think we should leave that to the doctor. I can get an ultrasound. But it's not like anything hit down there." She motions to the scratches on her arms and face with the one arm that isn't shrieking in pain. "It's all up here. Nothing to worry about."

"Psh. Yeah. Nothing. You falling off a roof is nothing."

"I'm _fine._" She insists again. Honestly. "I've taken worse falls before, you know. So have you."

"It's just…" He doesn't finish the sentence, instead opting to frown over at the corpse of the witch.

"Yeah? It's just what?"

"Look," He's running a hand through his hair, which always equals nervousness on his part, so Maka knows that she's not going to like how he continues his sentence. "I think that until this kid is born, you should stay at home." Oh she totally called that one.

"So that I can stop doing something I love?"

"Don't be so selfish! I'm worried! You're pregnant, things aren't the same!"

"Selfish! How am I being _selfish_!" _Not the same?_ As in, change? Change she doesn't want. A shift in lifestyle that she doesn't need.

"You've got two lives to worry about. Here's a hint." Soul's frown deepens. "One of them isn't you."

"Low blow." The words tumble from her lips before she can stop them. And as tempting as it is to save her pride and yell at him that she can take care of herself thank you very much, or demand an answer why, or even try and shoot down his logic, she doesn't. Mostly, because she knows he's right. She knows his whole argument, from how her 'condition' will be a hindrance all the way to how it's putting their child's life at risk, because she's already fought herself over it.

She just keeps on putting off maternity leave because this is who she is, her identity. Maka Albarn is defined by the peace she tries to protect and the blade she wields. It's what she loves, feeling the hum of Soul under her fingers as she tears through the opposition. There's not much else she can say other than the fact that being Soul's meister is what she's been doing since day one, and that she doesn't _want_ things to change simply because she's getting pudgy with a new life.

But Maka Albarn doesn't go down without a fight.

Tonight, she'll harp about it the whole way home. (And trust her, she can make the already long ride from Naples to Rome damn near unbearable if she wants to). She'll make him sleep on the couch, slam some doors, throw a few books, let out the frustration.  
But, tomorrow, she'll eat the breakfast he offers her and go with him to the hospital, let them do the tests to make sure everything's okay, and when they find nothing wrong, she'll thank the doctors, hug Soul, and whisper in his ear that _fine, we'll do this your way_.

-**Quinto Mese**-

Maka's sitting on the couch again when he comes home. And again, it wouldn't be all that weird, except this time she's staring at him like he's sprouted a third head. But he's only been gone for a few minutes, just enough to tote the trash down the steps and out to the public bin, so it can't be anything life-changing, right? Right.

"What?" She motions for him to come closer, and he does so. Taking his hands in hers, Maka places them on her bulge of a stomach and lets them rest. Nothing happens. Though, if she wanted to be molested so badly, all she had to do was ask. He starts moving his hands upwards, but fingers grasp his and pull them back down to her stomach once more. So much for that idea.

And then he feels it.

"Shit…!" She smiles and her fingers curl tighter around his. "That was…I mean…"

Maka nods with a grin almost impossibly wide for her face. "She's kicking." He doesn't ask about the pronoun, time for that later, but just turns his attention back to the stomach and the fact that _holy crap there's a living, kicking kid in there_. Suddenly, parenthood feels a lot more real.

As in, hold on, this is past the halfway-point real. Four months left of just the two of them (not that they'd been doing too many "just the two of them" activities lately...) Four months left of hassle-less trips, babysitter free budgets, Four months left of _sleep_.

"Ah! She did it again. Did you feel it?" He nods, since his voice suddenly won't work. His throat's too tight, his hands are shaking too much, and holy crap it's _kicking_. Doesn't know when his That's their kid in there. It's…it's…

"S-strong little thing isn't she?" He chokes, still working on his voice coming out semi-normal. How the hell is Maka so calm!

"Mmhmm. Takes after her papa." And now if that just isn't the most sweet, parental, and lovey-dovey comment she's ever uttered to his face. Must be a mood swing. But when she doesn't pull a 180 on him, Soul allows his smile to widen, if possible. Maybe, he ponders, it's just one of those 'parent' things.

"Really? And here I was going to say that it makes her like mother." There's another kick while Maka's busy laughing, and, well, he can't help it. It's contagious. The chuckle rises from the pit of his stomach and is a full blown laugh by the time it has reached his mouth. 'Cuz shit, there's a _baby_ under that skin. His. Theirs. Baby.

"I love you. So much." Her smile only brightens.

-**Sesto Mese**-

"So what is it?" She turns away from her book to look up at him with a smile.

"A girl."

"I _know_ that." He mutters. "I wasn't asking about gender."

"Mmm, really?" She turns back to the book, a smile still on her face, and flips a page; feeling not so much ignorant as happily tormenting. He wants to know if there's a weapon or a meister growing beneath her skin. And she knows the answer; she can see it in the gradually forming lump of soul within her. She just hasn't told him. She's wondering if she should.

The thing about giving birth to a weapon is that infants don't have control over their transformation. Once, Tsubaki had spoken of her younger sister, who had ripped open her mother with a sickle blade from the inside when she was four months premature. Neither had survived. It's the kind of story that she knows Soul will go insane with worry over, and even though he's been pretty cute with all the fawning over her pregnant-ness (because "pregnancy" sounds too old and makes it sound planned. She's only 22), it gets annoying. It's not worth it to tell him. Bad enough that he's not allowing her to come with him anymore on assignments, if she tells him, he might find a way to keep her from going shopping, or maybe from moving at all.

Which, is silly, and the rational part of her admits that no, he wouldn't try to be that controlling. It sounds more like something out of a romance novel than real life, though that might have something to do with all the flimsy paperbacks with titles like Un Amore sotto gli Spine that she's been reading lately. _Totally_ only for educational purposes, so that she can expand her Italian vocabulary, because apparently the reading level in those things is the easiest she'll find apart from elementary school books, and _no she doesn't enjoy reading those cheesy romance scenes and she certainly doesn't imagine Soul doing any of that crap for her becauseshe'snotthirteenanymoredammit!_  
So yeah. Not telling Soul. For now. He'll figure it out himself…eventually. Eventually. Maybe.

-**Settimo Mese**-

"I still can't believe it! Soul's gonna be a daddy!" While it's great that Black Star and Tsubaki decided to drop in for a visit, Soul is still debating the logic of actually telling the two of them about Maka's pregnancy. Between the altogether terrifying look in Tsubaki's eyes when she started rambling about baby clothes to Black Star's insistence on getting them both smashed to celebrate, Soul's pretty sure that they should have put off the announcement until…never.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time."  
"But it's so…so…" Black Star trails off, words failing him as he can't quite think of the right one to describe the situation. It makes him feel old, Soul would have liked to add, but all that would earn him is some chuckling about how he's _already_ an old geezer with that hair of his, so he lets it lie.

When words don't seem like they're going to cut it, the technician instead goes for the more direct approach. "Here, my gift for your bundle of joy!"

"Your autograph. On a bar napkin." Of course. Soul had expected nothing less.

"You can frame it and put it on her wall! And when she asks, you can tell her all about her awesome Uncle Black Star!"

"I'll make sure to do that." He's never quite sure if Black Star is just that ignorant of sarcasm, or if he can see through it and just chooses not to care. Either way, the blue-haired man responds with a triumphant laugh, grin wide enough to split any normal man's face.  
"So…when's the wedding?"

"The wedding?"

"Yeah! Yours and Maka's! There'll be lots of food, right?"

"Who said anything about a wedding?"

"You're not getting married?"

"Er, no. Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. I mean, she's only_ pregnant with your kid_ and all. Nothing much."

"I was planning on asking…just…later."

"Later?"

"We've only been going out for a year. I thought I had plenty of time."

"Shit. Y'know, they invented condoms for a reason…"

"It was just once!"

"The sex?"

"No!" Black Star snorts into his beer

"Sure."

"…I just didn't have one on me at the time."

"Hard to believe that _Maka_ of all people would let you get away with that. Hah, what, you do her on your bike or something?"

"…" Must…fight…down…images…Though, Soul admits to himself, it was amazingly hot. The way she was moving, and that _moan…_

"SHIT MAN! THAT'S DISGUSTING! I _SAT_ ON THAT THING ON THE WAY OVER HERE!"

"Oi, keep your voice down." No use. Black Star has already gotten the whole bar to play point and stare and glare at the obscenely loud American. Ugh, just what he needed. Soul motions to the bartender with a wave and asks for another 10 for 20, ten shots for twenty euro, all nicely arranged around the two shots of straight vodka in the middle. Maka's not gonna appreciate both him and Black Star being drunk off their asses and their hangover complaints tomorrow morning, but, well, it's the only way he'll find the loudness funny.

-**Ottavo Mese**-

"Kama?"

"Tch. No. That's just the letters in your name switched around."

"…Olsu?"

"What kinda name is that?"

"…Corna?"

"Stop with the damn anagrams already!" Pouting, Maka returns to the baby-name book propped up on her amazingly large stomach. Obviously, her own brand of creativity isn't appreciated. At least she had thought of some! All Soul had done was pluck strings on his guitar and shoot down each and every name she proposed. Honestly, _men_…

"What do _you _want to name her then? Guitar? Or how about Food? Or Cool?"

"Those suck too."

"That was _sarcasm_!"

"Oh." He pauses. "You suck at that too."

"ARGH. You could at least **try** to help Soul! If you had your way, we'd end up calling her 'kid' her whole life!"

"That's what Shinigami-sama did, and I think it worked out pretty well." The baby name book makes a highly satisfying _thunk_ as it connects with Soul's head. There hasn't been much else do to around here lately but work on her aim and struggle through knitting one of those baby blankets that she found in some random magazine.

Honestly. This is _important_. It's...not ownership. But something close. There's not much else they'll have control over in this new life that's due in another four weeks. Name. What else can they change about this? Not much. Maka wonders at what point she lost that simple sense of control over the life she was growing.

"Kelsey?" Soul tries again, picking a name at random from a list she'd thrown at him over an hour ago. "Sarah? Sonia?"

Her boyfriend pauses. Glances up at her in disbelief, then returns his gaze to the printout. "Tomato...?"

"Look," Maka defends all too quickly, "it's not _my_ fault that someone forgot to pick up a certain fruit for a certain special someone on the way home."

-**Ultimo Mese**-

"_Bonjourno. Che__-_" His Italian sucks enough on a day-to-day basis, and he doesn't feel like testing his luck with medical vocabulary, so he doesn't bother letting the receptionist finish.

"_Inglese. Parli Inglese__?"_ Soul receives a hesitant nod for his efforts. Good enough. "My girlfriend's water just broke-" he pauses when the man starts looking confused. Great. Only a few words in and they've hit the language barrier. "_Lei é con bambina_." He can't remember the word for pregnant, so he tries the next best thing. "The…er…fluid has come out! I think-" Maka shoves him out of the way.

"_Io ho un appuntamento per un cesario sul primo del mese, con Dr. Anima. Ma il mio…sachetto animiotico ha rotto._ _Ah...er…La posizione della bambina non é corretta, alora non posso- _" She stops when the receptionist holds up a hand, nodding.

"_D'accordo. Uno momento per favore."_ Grinning she turns back to Soul.

"And you said that learning the language was a waste of time."

"_Sachetto animiotico_? Your Animiotic **Bag**? And is _animiotico_ even a word?"

"I don't think that 'My water broke' translates. And it's a lot better than making hand motions and trying to explain fluid coming out like you were. We might have ended up standing here all day if I left it to you and your body language." True. Not that he'll admit it.

"Hey, at least I get points for trying."

She snorts in disbelief. "No, not really."

Getting Maka squeezed into one of the tiny waiting room chairs is a lost cause, because he's pretty sure that she'll get stuck in it. Not that he's going to voice that opinion out loud. He happens to _like_ his head thankyouverymuch. Instead he commandeers a wheelchair when the nurses aren't looking, and only whistles innocently when the other patrons look their way. The thing is wide enough for a heavily pregnant chick, plus when the nurses finally call them over, Maka's already got a set of wheels.

The doctor meets them halfway to the examination room, clipboard in one hand and breakfast cornetto in the other. So much for hospital sanitation. But at least his English isn't limited to the basics of conversation.

"The contractions are…?"

"We left home when she started having them, and her water broke on the way here. Er…I don't know how often they are."

"And the baby is positioned feet first." The graying doctor sighs as he set down the papers that he'd been holding. "We'll have to perform an emergency Caesarean I'm afraid. Ah, don't give me that face Signore!" And indeed, Soul realizes, he'd started glaring as soon as the doctor had said 'emergency'. So he settles for frowning heavily instead.

"Don't worry. Signorina isn't in any danger at the moment. Just a term we use when the operation is out of schedule. Early labor is not uncommon for a first-time mother. But if you would, Signore , there are a few extra forms we need you to fill out while we prepare Signorina Albarn for surgery."

Surgery. Gah. He knows that this is just routine, and she'd been scheduled for one anyway, but _still_. There's something infinitely more worrying about knowing that it's been labeled an emergency.

Maybe he starts glaring again, or maybe he's just so hideously nervous that the doctor takes pity on him. Either way, the end result is the same. "Though…We already have the essential information on file. You may accompany Signorina Albarn during the preparation if you wish, Signore."

Soul is pretty sure he hasn't agreed to anything so quickly in his life.

* * *

"Breathe Maka. C'mon." She does so, steadily in and out. Everything's a little hazy and it feels almost like a dream, but that's probably the anesthesia. Soul looks funny with a hairnet, she realizes in a corner of her mind. The facemask doesn't help either. So she tries not to look at him, since she's afraid she might start laughing or something, and the doctors working behind the tent probably wouldn't appreciate that.

But still, she clutches to his hand like a lifeline, choosing to focus on its warm embrace over the slight stench of burning skin and the fuzzy feeling of numbness where her lower regions are supposed to be. The trick is to forget that there are people digging their hands in her innards. Or at least try to. When that strategy fails, she only grips her boyfriend's hand tighter. Blood is nothing. She's seen blood before. She's been sliced open before. But…well, it's usually not willingly.

"If you please, Signore, we're about to drop the tent." Ah, show time.

"Hey, c'mon Maka. She's finally coming out." He squeezes her hand, it's easy to tell that he's not feeling nearly as confident as he sounds, and she returns the gesture. Nine months for this one moment. Just breathe, she reminds herself, remember to breathe. What's she supposed to be feeling? Curiosity? Fear? Joy? A combination of all of the above? Hell, she doesn't know what she's really feeling anyway.

The green curtain separating Maka from her stomach drops.

There's a lot of padding, so she can't see any blood or even some stray innards. There is only a pair of gloved hands, reaching down into a cavity that she can't see, pulling on something she can't feel, and then coming up with an infant in their grasp.

That's her baby. Right there. That one, crying out from within the doctor's arms. That one, limbs stretching for the first time. That one, slick with her blood. It's proof that it's her baby. She's the mother. No one else. It's hers. Hers. Crap, is she crying? Are these tears? She's totally crying. Oh well. She's allowed to cry, right? Because that's her baby. Flesh and blood and grown for nine long months.

Soul squeezes her hand again and she can hear him gulp. "Good job, Maka." His voice is trembling (With relief? Joy?) and Maka half expects to see tears running down his cheeks. So much for staying cool throughout the operation.

"You're amazing." Hah, his voice is still shaking.

She grins sluggishly. "I know."

* * *

He's first let into the recovery room when Maka first wakes up. There's no baby yet, they're still checking her over, but he doesn't mind, he's too busy making sure his girlfriend is alright. Is she supposed to be flushed? Does she need a drink? Still tired? When the questions run dry, he returns to bodily contact to assure himself that yeah, everything's cool with the world. Handholding leads to soft caresses, which leads to lip-locking, which leads a royal beating when his hand accidentally strays towards her side out of habit, and that hurts like _hell_. If the nurse notices the dent in Soul's head when she brings in the baby, she doesn't comment on it.

Maka gets to hold the bundle first. The male bundle. The male bundle that was supposed to be female. Damn is he glad that their baby stuff is gender-neutral.

Soul's amazed. With everything. The wisps of hair on the kid's head, too few and new to boast either parent's color. The small button of a nose, barely as big as the tip of his thumb. His fingers, one hand fisted tightly and the other with the digits spread out, fingernails impossibly tiny. His cries, few and far between at the moment as he prefers to nap, but still there as if reminding him that yeah, he's alive and well and wants attention.

Although, at the moment, their baby kind of looks like a raisin.

Somewhere along the line, he realizes that yeah, he wants to hold the kid too. But…he wants Maka as well. Decisions, decisions. Then again…why not have both?

It's a tight fit for all of them in the hospital bed, it's hard to avoid tangling himself in the IV tube hanging down, and Maka's still mighty sore from being cut open. But Soul is content when he finally shifts into place, back against the bedboard, one arm draped over his girlfriend's shoulder and the other supporting their newborn's head.

And Maka is content, head leaning on her boyfriend's shoulder, the fingers of one hand tangled with his behind their baby's skull, the second arm wrapped around the lower part of the blanket where chubby legs are wrapped up snug as a bug.

He doesn't know how much time passes with them laying like that, just reveling in the others' company, but at some point, he speaks.

"Maka?" She makes a soft noise to indicate that she's listening.

"I think…we'll be okay after all." The words are barely audible, because admissions like that are most definitely not cool and highly cliché, and sound like something out of a really _really_ bad romance novel.

"You had doubts?" No answer on his part. He cringes in anticipation of a deadly Maka chop.

But…apparently, it's for nothing. It takes a second for him to realize that the giggles he's hearing are coming from her. "I guess we both did," she admits, "But I'm glad we agree." He steels himself for another round of sappiness. (Regardless, he's still grinning ear to ear when she opens her mouth.)

"We'll be fine."

(Though, it only takes two sleepless weeks for them both to eat those words. Because seriously. Who would've thought that the grace period was the pregnancy?)

* * *

_Egad, I told myself to stay away from writing pairings. But nooooooo, of course I don't listen to myself. Gah. I dunno what it is about this one pairing that actually made me write it, especially since the section is overflowing with them already…ugh. Just call me Ms. Bandwagon._

_I'm incredibly sad that there's no Spirit in here. He was originally, but I took him out in favor of Crona. Ah, the choices we make…_

_Ooh, side-note. Personally, I believe Crona is a girl. Er, I dunno if it's actually been confirmed yet or not…but, well…She wears a dress, she's got pink hair, there's an 'a' at the end of her name, she's got hips, is about as flat as Maka, and Ragnarok flips up her dress to reveal panties. If Crona is a boy, my brain just might explode._

_Er, one more side-note. Anyone else as happy as I am that the anime SPOILER had Maka catch up to Crona instead of losing her completely? Happy days :D Though, I guess no clown. Saddening, but still, more Crona! (and maybe more Crona/Maka hints…?) Yay._

_And finally, let it be known that I was seriously toying with the idea of having the baby be stillborn. But I felt that'd be pretty cheap and cliché, and too angsty for me, so baby survived. :D_

_FINAL NOTE I SWEAR! Er, anyone know how to get the star into Black Star's name on here? I had it in word, and then when that didn't work I tried the html code, but no luck. Any advice?  
_


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